


A Beginner's Guide to Peril

by bertee



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Abduction, Attempted Rape, Hallucifer, Hallucinations, M/M, Mild Gore, Peril, Psychological Torture, Season/Series 07, Sibling Incest, Tentacles, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-25
Updated: 2012-08-25
Packaged: 2017-11-17 05:23:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/548066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bertee/pseuds/bertee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam finds Dean tied to some railroad tracks. Things go downhill from there. (Set mid season 7.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Beginner's Guide to Peril

**Author's Note:**

> Now with [amazing art](http://badbastion.livejournal.com/4395.html) by badbastion@LJ

The train tracks blurred beneath Sam's feet as he ran.

His boots thumped against the wooden sleepers, scuffing over gravel with every sixth step as the stretch of the tracks guided him onward through the darkness. 

His chest burned with the need for air and his legs ached from running but he blinked the stinging sweat out of his eyes to keep watching the track ahead of him.

His heart stuttered in his chest when he finally saw him.

"Dean!"

His muscles were close to spasming with exhaustion but the fresh burst of fear and relief was enough for one last push forward.

Dean looked up at the sound of his name. 

His answering shout was muffled by the gag in his mouth but Sam got the gist when he dropped to his knees beside him. "Got here as fast as I could, man."

"Not fast enough," Dean muttered through his gag.

He sounded more annoyed by his predicament than by Sam's delayed rescue and Sam smiled between breaths as he went to work on the ropes that held Dean on the tracks.

The sprite had been thorough. The ropes were coiled around Dean's body in thick bands at his ankles, thighs, hips and chest. His arms were pinned and bound behind him, giving him no leeway to do much more than wriggle helplessly on the wooden slats.

Sam's hands were damp with sweat and when his fingers slipped off the impossibly tight knots for the third time, he reached into his pocket for his knife.

He'd barely cut through the ropes around Dean's ankles when he saw the light in the distance.

Dean yelled through the fabric in his mouth, thrashing harder in his bonds, and Sam's stomach dropped.

"I'm trying!" he said, slicing through rope after rope as Dean looked at him with wide eyes. "They're too tight, Dean, I can't-"

The ground shook beneath them as the train kept coming. The vibrations rumbled through the tracks and sleepers, making Sam's hands shake even more, and he gasped when his hand slipped, sending the knife slicing into Dean's side as he tried to cut the ropes around Dean's wrists.

Dean's wince was lost to the thunder of the train. Blood poured out over Sam's hands, staining the knife and the ropes, but he kept hacking away until the ropes came loose.

The horn of the train was painfully loud. It shuddered closer, the roll of it making Sam's teeth chatter as he sawed at the last coil of rope binding Dean's shoulders to the track. Blood and sweat dripped out around the handle of the knife while he cut desperately, not caring about the difference between rope and flesh if it meant getting Dean off the tracks.

The driver hadn't seen them soon enough. Sam could hear the squeal of the brakes, the drag of metal against metal, but it wasn't enough to halt the juddering mass of the train in time. 

Deaf to everything but the roar of the oncoming train, Sam looked between Dean's wide eyes and the sticky spread of Dean's blood that coated his hands. His hands kept moving, cutting away at the ropes, but as the train bore down on them, there were too many and Sam was too slow.

The lights rushed toward him, swallowing him up in the white glare, and Sam reached down to hold onto Dean before the collision came.

His hands closed around nothing but the knife.

Instead of the impact of the train, something slammed into his side. It didn't have the force of the train but it was enough to knock him off his knees and off the track to roll through the dirt.

The train thundered past, horn still blaring, and Sam scrambled to a sitting position. "Dean!"

He lunged for the tracks, unable to think of a more coherent plan than getting to Dean, but was pulled up short by a hand on the back of his collar. His attacker hauled him back, shouting something beneath the screech of the train, but Sam ignored it in favor of lashing out at him.

The hit loosened the guy's grip on Sam's collar but he was on him again before Sam could get back to the tracks and to Dean. The guy caught him on the back of his knee with a kick and rode him down to the ground. He used his weight to pin him, knees astride Sam's hips, but Sam's struggles only abated when he finally caught the guy's shout.

"Sam!"

Over the course of his life, Sam had heard his name on Dean's lips more time than he'd looked in a mirror. The familiarity of it was like a glass of water to the face and he blinked up through tear-blurred eyes to look at the man currently holding him down. 

"Dean?"

The train finally sped past them as Dean's hands fisted in the front of his shirt. 

"What the fuck, Sam?" Dean yelled. "I know you're the size of a goddamn house but that doesn't mean you can try to stop a fucking train." 

He shook him, breathless and angry, and it wasn't hard for Sam to see the terror beneath his current fury. "What the hell were you doing?"

The world swum around his head as he shoved Dean back enough to turn to check the tracks. Dean had been there -- Sam had got the phonecall from the chittering sprite, seen the whites of Dean's eyes as the train got closer, felt the knife slicing through rope and skin -- but when he looked over, the track was empty.

There was no blood, no ropes, no crushed and mangled corpse of his brother, and Sam's breath came out in a shivering rush when he looked down to see his hands were smudged with nothing but dust.

"Sammy?"

The worry in Dean's voice was stronger now. Sam couldn't blame him.

"I'm okay," he said hoarsely. His heart was pounding hard enough to make his chest ache and he fought to calm himself now that he knew that Dean was alive. "I- I saw-" He swallowed, tasting grit in the back of his throat. "We need to talk."

"Damn right we need to talk," Dean said, pushing himself to his feet. "You've been off your game for weeks but this…" He shook his head. "You better have one hell of a good explanation for this."

Sam smiled grimly as he let Dean help him up. He could feel the phantom wetness of the blood against his hands and the lights of the train still flashed behind his eyelids when he said, "Something like that."

**+++**

_Three weeks earlier_

The ghoul's grimy fingers closed tighter around Sam's throat.

It was shorter than he was, taking on the body of a middle-aged woman with hair in crisp gray curls, but it was strong enough to haul him up the outer wall of the crypt by his throat as he gasped for air. Its fingers dug in, its hands coated in gravedirt as it snarled up at Sam, and Sam kicked out uselessly while he looked to Dean for help.

Unfortunately, Dean wasn't faring any better.

He went down hard under a tackle from the other ghoul and Sam kicked hard when he saw Dean's head slam into a gravestone as he fell. "Dean!"

His shout was rough from the lack of air but Dean's eyes fluttered open at the sound of his name. The ghoul pounced before he could rally a defence, however, and Sam's eyes went wide when it loomed over Dean, running its tongue along rotting teeth.

Its fingers slid between Dean's ribs with ease.

Dean cried out, arching back and clutching at the hand delving into his chest. He was barely conscious from the blow to the head and the ghoul smiled down at him as it pushed its fingers in through muscle and flesh.

"No!"

Thrashing against the hold, Sam threw himself forward to slam his shoulder into the ghoul's face. Its jaw shifted under the force and Sam followed it up with an elbow to its temple as he pushed himself off the wall to run towards Dean.

The ghoul looked up, startled, but only twisted its fingers deeper into Dean's chest. Sam didn't slow them and barrelled into the ghoul solidly enough to carry them both into a gravestone.

He felt the ghoul's ribs crack beneath him but its smile was still in place when Sam caught it by the front of its shirt. Its fingers glistened with Dean's blood and Sam gritted his teeth when it flicked its tongue out to lick its lips. 

"Your brother tastes good," it said with a smirk, reaching up to grip Sam's jaw. "You wanna try?"

Its fingers slid against his skin and Sam saw red.

The crunch of the ghoul's skull against the gravestone was darkly satisfying.

It wasn't the cleanest kill Sam had ever made, or even the most efficient, but that didn't stop him as he slammed the ghoul's head into the stone again and again and again. Its laughter cut off after two hits, replaced with the wet rattle of its breathing when its head cracked open, but Sam was happy enough to hear nothing except the wet thump of flesh. 

By the time the ghoul went still, there was nothing but a bloodied stump at the end of its neck. Breathing hard, Sam let it drop to the floor and whirled around to check on his brother.

A gunshot followed a second later. Sam blinked when the second ghoul dropped to the floor, ended by a solid load of buckshot to the head, and he looked over to where Dean was leaning against a gravestone.

Blood ran down his temple from where his head had hit the stone but his shirt was intact. As hard as Sam looked, there were no marks from where the ghoul's fingers had sliced into his chest.

"Huh," Dean said. He steadied himself on the tombstone and looked over at the corpse Sam had left behind. "Can't say that's the healthiest way to deal with your issues but whatever works for you."

Sam looked down. While Dean's shirt was clean, his was splattered with blood from where he'd killed the ghoul and he glanced back at Dean in confusion. "He was tearing you apart."

"Everyone wants a piece of me," Dean said with a grin. He patted Sam on the chest. "Good thing you're here to defend my honor, right?"

He moved easily, definitely not like someone who'd had a ghoul five fingers deep in their chest cavity, and Sam let himself relax as he shrugged off the confusion. 

It was dark in the graveyard. Dean had been too far away for him to see properly. It happened.

"What honor?" he teased, putting a hand to his bruised throat.

"Hey," Dean said with a glare. "I'm not the one who was hooking up with the rich chick at that auction last month."

"I wasn't hooking up with her!" Sam called at Dean's retreating back. "I was helping her! Her dress…"

He trailed off when Dean kept walking and shook his head as he picked up his gun and went to follow him. His neck ached but that wasn't his primary concern when he felt along his jaw for where the ghoul had gripped him with bloody fingers.

His hand came back clean.

**+++**

Dean got hurt seven times over the next three weeks.

His thigh was ripped open by a black dog. He had a concussion from being thrown into a bookcase by a spirit. All the toenails on his left foot were ripped out by a demon. He broke two ribs falling down a haunted well. One of his eyes was gouged out by a rugaru. He was beaten unconscious by a deposed god. A daeva clawed him up badly enough that Sam could see the bones in his forearm. 

When he realized that Dean only knew about three of those injuries, Sam knew something was wrong.

**+++**

_Present_

"Start talking."

Dean didn't have a beer in his hands, Sam noticed. No beer, no scotch, no bottle of the nearest, cheapest liquor. His hands were steady as he rested them against his thighs but the lack of alcohol was more telling than a tremor.

He wondered if it would be easier to explain this if Dean were drunk.

He took a breath and looked at his hands. "I'm seeing things."

Dean nodded. "Lucifer."

Sam wished he hadn't flinched at the name. However, he couldn't help but be relieved when he didn't appear when mentioned.

It was quiet in his head, the thrum of insanity holding at a manageable level, like a kitten toying sleepily with a mouse. It wasn't quiet enough to raise his suspicions, to make him think the kitten was hiding and growing and preparing to rip him to pieces, but in hindsight Sam knew he should've caught on sooner.

"Not him," Sam said. "Well, I guess it's him really but it- I'm seeing you."

"Me?" Dean raised his eyebrows. "Now?"

His eyes darted left and right, as if looking for a hidden double of himself somewhere, and Sam smiled in spite of himself. "Not now. When we're on hunts. I keep seeing you getting hurt."

Dean frowned. "Nothing that some stitches can't fix."

"No, Dean, I-" He bit his lip, remembering the white globe of Dean's eyeball dangling from the rugaru's fingers. "I keep seeing things happen to you and then when I get there and try to help, it's not real."

"Like that time in Broward County?" Dean asked. "You think Gabriel's back somehow? Or another trickster?"

"It could be," Sam said vaguely. "But I think we're in Occam's razor territory here."

He tapped his temple and Dean nodded. "Right. You already got bats in the belfry -- we probably don't need to start looking for Quasimodo in there as well." He leaned forward, resting his arms on his thighs. "Are you seeing this happen to other people or just me?"

Sam didn't meet his eyes. "Just you."

"Okay." From the look on his face, he was still processing things. "What does this have to do with you throwing yourself in front of a train?"

Sam's cheeks heated. It sounded ridiculous in retrospect, even if he could still remember the bone-deep terror he'd felt as his fingers slipped on the ropes.

"I thought you were in danger," he said quietly. "I saw you tied to the tracks."

Dean's eyebrows shot up. "I was tied to the train tracks? Seriously?" He sat back in his chair at Sam's nod. "And you didn't think something was up with that?"

"I thought it was the sprite," Sam said lamely. "It called me on your phone and said it caught you."

"I killed the sprite," Dean said, concerned. "I called to tell you that."

Sam looked down with a helpless shrug.

"Didn't you think it was weird?" he asked. "I mean, train tracks? It's kinda out there."

"You got abducted by aliens, Dean," he pointed out. "A shapeshifting dracula dressed you in lederhosen and tried to electrocute you."

"Point taken," Dean said. He ran a hand through his hair and leaned forward again. "Are you seeing anything now? I'm not missing a limb or anything?"

"No," Sam said, sweeping his eyes over his brother's intact body. "It's only during hunts."

"Guess I'll have to be extra careful, huh?"

His tone was light but Sam recognized the worry under the surface.

"I'm sorry," he said helplessly. "I don't want to see this stuff, Dean-"

"Hey," Dean cut in, getting to his feet. "It's okay. We'll figure something out, all right?" 

He leaned down to kiss him on the forehead and Sam closed his eyes, feeling like a child being comforted after a nightmare. 

"Just take it one at a time," Dean said, his voice low and soothing as he ran his fingers through Sam's hair. "If something crazy's happening to me, just remember it isn't real."

"What if it is?" he asked quietly. "Our lives are full of crazy, Dean."

Dean smiled. "Yeah, but it's our kind of crazy. If I'm getting attacked by shapeshifters, you help me out. If I'm being dangled over a pit of acid by a bad guy with a moustache, you can let that one go."

"But-"

"Hell, if I let it get that far, I probably deserve it," Dean said with a grin. He dipped down further to brush his lips against Sam's before he patted him on the shoulder. "Go get cleaned up, man. You could use some sleep."

Sam didn't argue as he headed to the shower.

**+++**

When Sam woke up four hours later, there was a shtriga floating over Dean.

He had the shotgun in his hand before he could think twice. Its mouth glowed white as it loomed over him, bony fingers curled around his shoulders as Dean lay frozen and terrified, and Sam pulled the trigger. 

The boom of the gun shook him out of his trance and he blinked as the buckshot smattered against the motel room wall. Dean rolled off the bed, unencumbered by the weight of the shtriga, and Sam let the gun fall from his hand when he finally processed the situation.

A shtriga wouldn't have been there. They would've heard by now if something was picking off the kids in town and even if there was one around, it would've had no reason to go after Dean.

Slumping in frustration, he saw Dean peek his head up from the other side of the bed. They only slept apart on days like this, when they were too exhausted to do anything but sprawl across a double bed each, but from the look on Dean's face, he was glad for the distance.

His hair was disheveled when he popped up from behind the mattress. "The hell?"

"I saw a shtriga," Sam said quietly.

Expecting some sort of chastisement for being dumb enough to think that it was actually real, he was relieved when Dean didn't press it further. Outside the motel window, lights from other rooms started to flicker on and Dean stumbled to his feet.

"We gotta get out of here," he said, pulling on a t-shirt. "I don't think the manager's gonna be happy that we shot up his wall."

Catching on, Sam tossed the covers aside and hurried to get his clothes on his body and his gear in his bag while he said by way of apology, "Dean, I'm sor-"

"No," Dean cut in. "This isn't your fault."

The gun on the bed said differently but Sam took the out where he could get it. Dean's voice was tight and tense, with worry rather than anger, and Sam opted to keep his head down as they finished packing up.

It was easier to focus on an irate motel manager than on whatever was wrong with him.

**+++**

Things got better now that Dean knew.

For one, it was easier to explain. Sam could ask if Dean's leg was really twisted at that angle or if he'd actually just coughed up part of his lungs and Dean could give him a quick answer to avoid any further angst or confusion. 

That had helped with a portion of his hallucinations, while the Batman test had come in handy with some of the other.

Given the nickname by Dean, the test made Sam consider precisely what type of peril Dean seemed to be in. If it was the kind of peril favored by a comic book villain, then he was supposed to treat it as a hallucination and ignore it.

(Dean being frozen inside a person-sized ice cube, buried alive under Sumerian coins, and dangled over a pit of acid had all failed the Batman test.)

Unhappily for Sam, there was a lot of middle ground between Batman peril and normal peril. A shapeshifter who took on the form of various giant beasts fell squarely in that middle ground.

Water squidged through Sam's socks as he trudged back to their motel room with Dean in his wake. He was soaked through, his heavy wet jeans sticking to his calves and his shirts clogged with water as the rain kept pounding down on their heads. Dean was no drier than he was and Sam listened to the squelch of his boots on the concrete as he fumbled with the key to the door. 

"I miss spirits," Dean said miserably. "Haunted houses, graveyards, creepy woods -- I can deal with those. A giant crocodile? Not so much."

"Alligator," Sam said mindlessly as the door swung open.

"Geek," Dean muttered. He muscled past him, stripping off his sodden shirts as soon as he'd made it inside, and Sam closed the door before toeing his boots off.

His body ached from the day's exertions -- snatching his brother from the jaws of a huge angry alligator was way more taxing than digging up a body -- but as exhausted as he was, he couldn't shake off the thrum of worry that came with the idea of falling asleep. Dean had been stolen from his bed by the shifter for the past three nights and although one of those times had been a hallucination, it had still left Sam tired and on edge.

He therefore put his plan into action while Dean was in the shower.

It wasn't so much a plan as a desperate attempt to get some sleep. He towelled himself off, put on his most comfortable tee and sweats, and held the handcuffs behind his back as he waited for Dean to emerge from the shower and settle into bed.

His face was pink from the heat of the water, his wet hair sticking up in messy spikes, and if Sam hadn't been so strung-out with exhaustion, he would've kissed him until his lips were numb.

"Tomorrow," Dean mumbled, tugging on a t-shirt and then burying his face in the pillow. "We'll get that douchewad tomorrow."

Rising quietly to his feet, Sam said, "He's not taking you away again."

"Hell, no," Dean agreed, not lifting his head. "I'm ready for him if he tries anything. M'staying sharp."

His voice was slurred and tired and anything but sharp, which didn't exactly fill Sam with confidence. The handcuffs, on the other hand, were reassuring and solid under his fingers and as he leaned over to click them in place around Dean's wrists, it felt like a sound plan.

Dean groaned when Sam cuffed his wrists to the headboard. "C'mon, man, not tonight."

"I'm sorry," he said, checking they weren't too tight. "I don't want you to get kidnapped again."

Dean pulled against the cuffs. "I won't," he promised. "Take the cuffs off, Sam. Come on."

Sam shook his head as he got back into his own bed. "Tomorrow."

"Sam!"

"Tomorrow," he repeated, closing his eyes and blocking out Dean's half-hearted protests. 

Sleep would be easier with physical proof that Dean wasn't about to be grabbed from his bed by a giant vulture. He was sure of it.

**+++**

"Sam!"

Sam scrunched his nose up. No-one should have been shouting during his vulture-free sleep.

"Sa-"

Sam's brief pleasure at the fact that the shout had been muffled was soon tempered by the realization that something evil might have been doing the muffling. 

Although it was muffled, the shouting didn't let up. It didn't seem to be receding, which gave Sam some confidence that the handcuffs had worked, but when he reached for his gun and opened his eyes, he found that the presence of handcuffs was not as reassuring as he anticipated.

Dean was still there, flat on his back on the bed with the handcuffs locked in place around his wrists. 

Unfortunately, he wasn't alone.

The tentacles snaked up his body, undulating in a nauseating waves as they roamed over Dean's skin. They hooked around his ankles, pulling his legs wide apart, and writhed up along the expanse of Dean's chest, pushing his t-shirt aside with ease. One wrapped around his head, a thick green limb pulling across his mouth to keep him quiet, while a further tentacle rubbed up against the front of his boxers in a parody of a caress.

It didn't look like any creature Sam had seen before. While the shapeshifter had previously stayed with recognizable (if giant) animals, it was now no more than a thick moss-green body and a mass of bustling tentacles.

Dean's eyes were wide and terrified when they met Sam's. His wrists were beginning to bleed from where he'd struggled against the cuffs and every muscle in his legs and arms strained as he tried to wriggle out of the creature's grasp.

"Dean!"

Dean's cry grew more high-pitched and desperate as a thin tentacle started to inch inside his boxers and Sam lunged into action. It took him less than three seconds to drop his gun and grab his machete, and he lashed out at the tentacles with one smooth stroke.

The first fell away from Dean's mouth and Sam called as he spat it out, "Dean, is this real? Are there tentacles?"

"There are tentacles!" Dean snapped. "Get them the hell off me!"

Sam complied as best he could. He chopped and hacked and sliced, thankful that the shapeshifter had chosen perversion over function in its current form. It was only when the severed tentacles lay spasming on the floor that he retrieved the gun from his bag to fire off round after round of silver bullets into its body in the hopes of hitting a heart.

He only stopped for breath when it finally went still.

Lowering his gun, he couldn't keep from cringing when he looked over to Dean on the bed. He was chained down with three tentacles laying across his body and blood splattered over his clothes and skin. From the glare on his face, he wasn't happy about any part of his situation.

Nudging one of the tentacles off him, Dean tugged angrily against the cuffs. "You wanna uncuff me, asshole?"

"I'm sorry," Sam said reflexively, fumbling for the keys. "Dean, I'm sorry, I didn't know."

"No, you just thought cuffing me to the bed was a great plan." Spitting out the blood that had made it into his mouth, he threw the tentacles off him and got to his feet with a grimace as soon as Sam freed him. "I mean, what the hell, man?"

"I was tired?" Sam said hopefully. "I just wanted some sleep and I figured if you were here, you wouldn't get kidnapped and-"

Dean shushed him with a wave of his hand. "No, I mean _what the hell_?" He held up a severed tentacle and wiggled it in disgust. "Tentacles? Seriously?" He looked nauseated. "I never thought I'd miss shapeshifters who just turned into things from monster movies."

In spite of himself, Sam smiled. "Dracula's not looking so bad now?"

"Better than something out of Japanese porn," he muttered, scrubbing the tentacle slime off his stomach with his shirt. "Guess I should be glad it didn't try to dress me up like a schoolgirl or something."

He shuddered and gave the body of the shapeshifter a kick.

"Shower?" Sam asked.

He was unsurprised by the vehemence of Dean's nod. "Shower," he agreed, stripping his shirt off and heading for the bathroom. "Freaking tentacles, man."

Sam let himself stop to take a breath as soon as Dean disappeared inside. The machete lay on his bed and he reached over to clean the gunk off it when Dean poked his head round the bathroom door again.

"Hey, nice job," he said sincerely. "Y'know, figuring out it was real and all."

He ducked back inside without waiting for a response and Sam sank to a seat with a sigh. He still felt jittery from being woken so abruptly and he winced at the pound of the headache that crept through his skull. 

Dean's gratitude was unearned -- Sam was pretty sure he shouldn't be thanked for differentiating between reality and hallucinations, especially after he'd left Dean vulnerable in the first place. His skin crawled with frustration, the familiar infuriating sensation that his mind couldn't be trusted, and he ran a hand through his hair as he took a breath.

It didn't go far towards calming him down.

Glancing towards the table, he pursed his lips in disappointment when he saw that the bottle of scotch was empty, finished off by Dean the day before. They were out of beer too but that didn't dissuade Sam from the alcohol-based solution to his current problem.

He pulled his jeans and overshirt on, slid his feet into his boots, and checked his face and hair for shapeshifter blood. Finding none, he scrawled a note on the back of a receipt and pulled his jacket on as he headed for the door.

If anyone would understand the need for a strong drink, it would be Dean.

**+++**

The nearest bar was crappy.

Unfortunately, it wasn't Sam's kind of crappy. He was right at home in dirty bars with splintering barstools and surly drunks but low-lit clubs with tacky floors and an inordinate number of leather-clad patrons weren't usually his scene. 

Nevertheless, the place sold alcohol and as he settled himself at the bar with a generous measure of whiskey, Sam decided he could live with the setting.

Dean was safe, he reminded himself as he worked through a first, second and third glass of whiskey. He wasn't about to be molested by tentacles, whipped bloody, or fed to sharks piece by piece. He was having a nice, safe shower in their nice, safe motel room and so it was very much okay for Sam to get nicely, safely drunk.

The whiskey helped a little. It dulled the edges of his paranoia, enough to let him eke out some thoughts past the cloying fear that filled him.

Absently, he wondered if a heart attack would get him first. He'd always had salads to Dean's burgers, black coffee to Dean's three sugars, but as strong as his body was, he didn't think he was built to survive this level of constant terror.

The whiskey burned like bile when he emptied the glass. His legs were numb but steady when he rose from the bar and headed for the exit.

He froze when he saw Dean.

The bar was dimly-lit and filled with a dark-clad sea of bodies but even from across the room, there was no mistaking the familiar bow of Dean's lips. The blue neon light spilled down over his cheekbones but Sam frowned when he saw a stranger's fingers obscuring the line of his jaw.

Dean was pressed back against the dark red of the wall, held in place by two pairs of hands on his body. The men were human as far as Sam could tell but tall and strong as they trapped Dean in between them.

Dean's hair was still wet from the shower and his shirt clung to him as he struggled against the hold. His overshirt had gone already and Sam started to fight his way through the crowd with more urgency when he saw the gash on Dean's arm and the blood trickling down his temple.

One of the men shifted his grip on Dean's jaw and Sam's eyes narrowed when he saw him press a cruel kiss to his mouth.

"Dean!"

A couple dancing in front of him jumped at his shout but the men and Dean didn't look up. The first kept his lips on Dean's while the second kicked his thighs apart and slid his hand down Dean's body to rest over the front of his jeans. Dean's lips parted in a shocked 'o' and he struggled harder to get free.

Right up until the second guy put a knife to his throat.

Dean went still in an instant. His eyes were wide as he looked between the men but he slammed them shut with a wince when the guy's grip tightened between his legs.

"Hey!" Sam yelled. 

He elbowed two shorter guys out of his way as he shoved through the crowd. It felt like he was moving through water, wave after wave of party-goers between him and Dean, and he clenched his fists in frustration when he saw the guys haul Dean away.

They dragged him towards the door, crowded in close so as not to attract suspicion, but Sam could see Dean's arm twisted up behind his back and the glint of the knife against his spine. 

Sam ran for the door. He was pretty sure he sent at least three people flying on his way out of the bar but he couldn't bring himself to care as he stumbled out into the early morning air. The parking lot was half full but Sam came up empty when he scanned the cars for any sign of movement 

It was quiet out, nothing but the wind rushing down the road outside and the burble of voices and music from inside the bar, and Sam whipped around in surprise when two girls came out behind him, their heels clattering on the concrete as they laughed between themselves. 

His gaze slid over them but jumped along the side of the bar when he saw something out of the corner of his eye. He was just in time to see the two guys manhandle Dean down the alley and he took off after them without hesitation. 

He'd dealt with tentacle-wielding shapeshifters; there was no way he was letting Dean get hurt by a couple of asswipe humans.

He was hit with déjà vu as soon as he rounded the corner. The scene was the same as inside the bar, Dean pressed up against the wall with the two men holding him in place, but the differences made Sam's stomach tighten. 

His shirt was ripped from his struggles and a stream of blood ran down from the thin slice across his throat. The men had his head forced to the side, face mashed against the dirty brickwork, and Sam struggled to breathe past the hit of rage that went through him when one of them moved his hips against Dean in an unmistakeable grind.

He didn't think twice before breaking the guy's nose.

He bellowed in pain but Sam ignored it as he landed a punch to the hinge of his jaw which sent him sprawling unconscious across the dirty ground. The second one barely managed a protest before Sam hauled him back away from Dean and slammed his knee into his side.

The sound of cracking ribs was indescribably satisfying. Sam rounded on the guy, kicking him again as he fell to the ground and then advancing on him, losing himself in the potent rush of fury that came from people touching his brother like that.

"Sam!"

Off-balance, Sam stumbled when Dean caught his arm. He raised his right arm to steady himself but froze when he saw Dean flinch back, bracing for a punch.

"Dean?"

It came out more timid than he'd intended. His rage faltered and faded at the nervous expression on Dean's face -- directed at him, not at the men -- and he blinked twice when the blood on Dean's temple seemed to disappear from view.

His neck was uninjured, his shirt was free from tears, and there was no blood on his face and arm. Sam's shoulders went slack when he realized what that meant.

"Sammy?" Dean's hands came to rest on his arms before patting his way up to his face. "What just happened?"

"They- They were attacking you," Sam said, looking between the bodies on the ground and finding nothing but concrete. "I- I saw two guys. They dragged you out of the bar and held you against the wall and they were trying to…" He swallowed. "They were gonna hurt you."

Dean's face paled. Even as strung out as he was, Sam managed to be impressed by how level Dean's voice was when he said, "There's no-one, man. No-one but us. I saw you knocking back drinks in there and told you to come meet me out here. That's it."

"Fuck," Sam breathed. He let Dean's hands take the weight of his head as he closed his eyes then rested his palms on Dean's shoulders as he backed him against the wall. "I can't do this. I can't. I keep seeing these things and I can't stop any of them."

"Hey," Dean murmured, lifting his chin up. "It's okay. We'll work something out."

"What?" he asked sharply. "What the fuck can we work out? It's in my head, Dean. All the ghouls and shapeshifters and vampires are all in my head and we can't fight them there." He took a breath and rested his forehead against Dean's as he murmured, "I can't keep seeing them hurt you. I don't want to."

"Shhh." Dean stroked his hand through Sam's hair like he was a kid with a scraped knee instead of a grown man with a mind that was falling apart. "I'm okay," he murmured, low and soothing. "We're both okay."

Sam shook his head. Everything inside him was twisted and tangled and so he narrowed his focus as much as he could, down to the shine of Dean's eyes and the swell of his lips.

"I'm not okay, Dean," he whispered, leaning close enough that their noses almost touched. "I'm so goddamn far from okay."

He closed the gap between them before Dean could draw breath.

Dean tensed beneath him. His lips stayed frozen against Sam's and Sam kissed him harder, cupping Dean's cheeks and holding him close as his mind filled with pleas for Dean to just kiss him back, be with him, let him have this. 

He all but whimpered with gratitude when Dean finally responded.

It was slow and hesitant, as though Dean was the one whose reality was flickering, but Sam kept at it, licking his mouth open and letting his tongue play along his lips until he felt him yield beneath him. The parting of Dean's lips was the silent permission Sam had been looking for and he pressed him harder against the wall, feeling the warmth of Dean's cheeks under his hands and the solid line of his body against him. 

He was real. Sam could smell his shampoo, hear his low moans, feel his chest rise with every breath, and somewhere in the back of his hazy mind, he could let himself believe that they were safe like this. 

Dean arched easily, wrapping his arms around Sam's neck as Sam shifted his hands down to curl around his hips. His shoulders stayed flat against the brick and Sam spread his legs wider, lowering himself down that extra couple of inches to let him rub up against the front of Dean's jeans. They were chest-to-chest, toe-to-toe, mouth-to-mouth, with no space between them for air, let alone the creep of hallucinations, and Sam clung to it -- clung to him -- gladly. 

Distance had never suited them.

Even when Dean broke away from the kiss, they were still no more than an inch apart. The fog of their breaths mingled in the cold air as Dean gasped, "Sam…" His eyes were dark in the dim light, pupils wide and shining, but his gaze was firm when he asked, "You're with me, right?"

Sam nodded, dropping kisses from the side of Dean's nose to the corner of his lips. "I'm with you," he promised.

"You're not seeing things?"

His eyes trailed over Dean's kiss-pink lips, the spots of color high on his flushed cheeks, the skew of his hair in the print of Sam's hands, and he shook his head. "I'm not seeing things," he swore. "Just you."

The relieved curve of Dean's smile lit something warm inside him.

"Good," Dean whispered, sliding his fingers through Sam's hair. "'Cause I'm not sharing this with some shitty hallucination."

He looked younger when he smiled, further removed from the torn-up body Sam had been seeing for weeks. There were no injuries anymore, no missing eyes, broken jaws, or slit throats, and no-one else's hands on him but Sam's. He held him greedily, safe in the knowledge that Dean wouldn't get hurt when he cupped his ass and ground eagerly against him. Dean panted against his mouth, slick and hot, and Sam gave his ass another hard squeeze before fumbling with the button of his jeans.

Dean's hands were faster than his and Sam groaned against his mouth when Dean's cool fingers slid inside his boxers to close around his dick. He tugged roughly at Dean's zipper and returned the favor a moment later when he eased his cock out and ran his hand down the familiar length of it. A tremor went through his body and Sam smiled at the clumsy bump of teeth against his lip which marked Dean's loss of concentration.

He was too tired to fuck him, too desperate to be apart long enough for things like prep and patience, and so he settled for pulling away long enough to slick his palm with spit. The slide of his fist over Dean's dick was easier now and Sam crowded in closer, keeping Dean's feet between his as he bracketed Dean's thighs with his own. 

His dick bumped against his fingers, the skin heated as it rested against his fingernails, and he spread his hand wide to hold his own dick in with Dean's. Dean's cock rubbed up against his with every shift of his hips and he dropped his head to rest on Sam's shoulder while Sam worked his hand up and down in a slow slide.

"Fuck," Dean groaned, mouthing at Sam's collarbone. "Sam, the motel…"

The motel was less than fifteen minutes away. Sam had way too much experience of the things that could happen to Dean in less than fifteen minutes.

"No." He caught Dean's jaw in his left hand as he continue to jerk their dicks with his right. "Stay here," he begged between kisses. "Let's just stay, man. Please"

Dean frowned but Sam smiled in relief when he nodded. "Whatever you want."

Sam kissed him in gratitude. His movements felt clumsy as he rested his left hand at the base of Dean's skull, the days of stress and sleeplessness taking their toll, but he kept up the pace with his right. Dean grabbed his ass, pulling him in hard as he rolled his hips up to grind against Sam's dick, and Sam tilted his head to deepen the messy slide of their kiss.

His release rolled towards him, quicker than Sam was anticipating, and he moaned against Dean's lips at the rapid pulse of pleasure which grew stronger with each grind and slide of their dicks. It had been weeks since he'd come like this, with nothing flickering behind his eyelids or lurking in his head, and he fought to savor every second of it as he found himself swept towards completion.

"Dean," he gasped, "Dean, I'm gonna-"

"C'mon," Dean said around a moan of his own. "C'mon, man, I got you."

Dean's hands threaded through his hair, careless and needy all in one, and Sam closed his eyes and crushed their lips together as he came.

His release sparked through him, hot and blinding and perfect. He couldn't breathe, didn't need to as Dean shivered against him, gasping and moaning as he spilled over Sam's hand. It mixed with Sam's, enough that he couldn't tell the heat of Dean's come from the heat of his own, but as he held him against the wall and kissed him through the aftershocks, Sam could barely work out where the rest of their bodies started and stopped.

Dean broke away first, gasping for air, and Sam pulled in deep breaths of his own as he watched the flush rise up Dean's neck and the glazed contentment settle across his eyes.

"Shit," Dean said between breaths. "Jesus, Sammy."

Sam couldn't stop the smile that spread across his face at the dazed happiness in his voice and he leaned in to give him another short kiss on the lips.

"You okay?" Dean asked.

He looked like he might topple over when Sam let go of him but otherwise he was fine -- uninjured, unthreatened, and in no visible peril.

"I'm great," he said honestly, stepping back slowly to make sure Dean kept his balance. He zipped himself up, wiping his come-covered hand on the brick and then on his jeans, and looked back to Dean. "Are you-"

"I'm good." He still sounded dazed but Sam recognized it as the sated kind of dazed, rather than the concussed version. "That was all you, right? You didn't decide to get me off outside some dive because of some crazy hallucination?"

"No hallucinations," Sam said, stupidly proud that it was true. "All me."

Dean patted him on the arm as they wandered out of the alley together. "In that case, I ain't complaining." It was a stretch for him to sling his arm around Sam's shoulder but Sam was oddly comforted by the effort. "You think you can sleep better tonight?"

"I don't think there's much night left." He nodded towards the purple-red touch of dawn that was just beginning to color the sky but leaned into Dean's body as they headed to the motel. "But yeah." He kissed him on the temple. "I can sleep."

**+++**

There was no shtriga in the room when Sam woke up the next afternoon.

There was no vampire, no revenant, and no sexually aggressive tentacle monster. Unfortunately, there was also no Dean.

"Dean?"

Panic clawed its way through Sam's body in an instant, cold fingers scratching through his insides and creeping up into his throat. Stumbling out of bed, he shouted his name again as he checked the empty bathroom and then pulled on a shirt and jeans. The peaceful confidence of the previous night evaporated as his mind rushed through all the things that could have happened to Dean, both the injuries Sam had already seen and all the terrifying possibilities that still lurked in his head.

"Dean?" he called, throwing the motel room door open. "De-"

His mouth shut soundlessly. It then dropped open again a second later when he processed what exactly he was seeing.

Dean was in the motel parking lot, alive and well and occupied with cleaning the latest layer of dirt off the Impala. The sun beat down on the black metal, making it shimmer through the water, but Sam's attention stayed firmly on the car cleaner rather than the car.

Dean was shirtless. His jeans rode low on his hips, clinging to the bow of his legs and struggling to cover the swell of his ass as he leaned over the hood of their Impala. His skin was barely reddened by the sun but Sam bit his lip at the sheen of sweat that coated the smooth line of Dean's back.

His hand ached with how badly he wanted to touch him.

Water ran down his arms and chest when Dean stood back up to wring the sponge out and Sam's cock twitched at the view. His jeans were soaked with water, leaving nothing to the imagination as they clung to his thighs like a second skin, and Sam pinched himself to check he wasn't still asleep. 

When Dean didn't disappear or put on any more clothes, Sam decided it wasn't a dream. 

He wasn't sure whether it was relief that Dean was okay or just straight-up want that propelled him forward but it took him less than five seconds to pin Dean up against the Impala and pull him in for a kiss.

The metal was warm against his hands and the soapy water was cool when it soaked through his shirt but the kiss was just right. Dean's mouth softened under his, his tongue curling against Sam's, but Sam stuttered to a halt when he put a palm flat to Dean's chest and felt the roughness of clothes.

"What-"

Dean blinked when he pulled back, dazed but apparently happy, and Sam frowned in confusion as he looked down as Dean's very clothed torso. 

"You okay, man?" Dean asked cautiously. "I'm not injured right now, if that's what you're seeing."

"You're wearing a jacket," Sam said dumbly. "And a shirt."

"And a tee under that," Dean said, confused. "You got a problem with layering now?"

"Yes," Sam said. "No." He frowned. "I don't- You were shirtless," he said petulantly. "You were washing the car and you were shirtless."

Dean gave him a baffled smile. "Did you fall asleep watching porn again?" His smile abruptly faded. "Shit, is this a Lucifer thing? Instead of hallucinating me getting hurt, are you hallucinating me-"

"Being hot," he filled in. "And wet. And half-naked."

Despite his awareness that this was not a good sign, his dick didn't seem to have gotten the message. He was painfully hard in his jeans at the memory of his half-naked brother soaping up the car and he couldn't seem to take his hands off Dean's hips even when Dean said, "I guess it's better than injuries?"

There was concern on his face when he looked up at Sam. "We'll go through Bobby's stuff again. See if there's any contacts in there that can help you. We'll figure something out."

"Right." Sam's mouth was dry as he nodded. "We'll definitely figure something out." He licked his lips as his eyes lingered on Dean's mouth. "You maybe want to go inside before we start researching?"

"Go in…" Dean trailed off as a smirk crossed his face. "Inside, huh? What, you want us to hold off on fixing the hallucinations?"

"Shut up."

"Just for a week or two?" Dean teased as Sam led him inside. "Think of the possibilities, dude. Hot fireman, hot doctor, hot superhero…" 

Sam pressed a kiss to the column of Dean's throat. "Hot french maid?"

He kicked the door closed as Dean scowled at him. "Asshole."

He was pacified by a kiss while Sam backed him towards the bed. Dropping down onto the mattress with a smile, he straddled his hips and set about kissing him thoroughly as he allowed himself a second to think about what was happening.

He was too grateful for the change in hallucinations to look this particular gift horse in the mouth but when he let himself delve under the surface of his mind for just a split-second, he realized he shouldn't have been that surprised by the turn of events.

Whether this version was real or not, Sam had spent eons in the cage with Lucifer.

He should've known he would prefer incest to peril.


End file.
